


From England, With Love

by Moominchild



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - James Bond Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, American Bucky Barnes, And cause he's English and we're all like that, BAMF Peggy Carter, But with a Scottish accent, English Steve Rogers, Gen, Just imagine Richard Madden in the bodyguard, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peggy is in charge because ofcourse, Steve Rogers is a bit of a dick cause so is James Bond, That's what I'm going for, Well is it an AU cause I think they do that anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-09-07 00:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moominchild/pseuds/Moominchild
Summary: Agent James Barnes takes up the offer for a high-stakes job in England. Before he realises, the life he didn't know he had begins to fall apart.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> That was the most serious summary I could come up with without sounding like a shitty romcom trailer, and it's so melodramatic. You're welcome.

He could hear birds chirping quietly as he soaked up the rare, delicate English sun. There was a strange sort of peace to this place, the grassy expanse of fields like a blanket soaking up the noise, leaving an isolated respite from the world. His cup chinked softly as he placed it on its saucer, his hands then settling over his stomach. He hadn’t felt this relaxed since Paris.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we going to continue playing house. I don’t mind either way- the tea’s phenomenal.” Peggy sighed lightly, a slight furrow forming between her brows as she tried to gather her thoughts. She delicately rested her wrists upon the table, careful not to disturb the afternoon tea they had just finished. Everything about Peggy seemed delicate. From the curve of her lips to the angle of her wrists, the soft lullaby of her voice putting you instantly at ease. It was something she carefully managed, but he had known her long enough to know that that vulnerability was only a facade. He had seen her fire in how whip smart her mind was, in the way she raised her chin before tearing someone to shreds- with her words or her fists. But there was still an elegance to it all, one he still appreciated.

“I’m afraid we have had a spot of bother here, James. I was hoping you would be able to lend a hand.” James sighed and stretched out, basking in the afternoon sun.

“We would need you to go undercover, gather intelligence, that sort of thing. At the moment, that is all that is necessary. But don’t misunderstand me, it would be long and arduous, and would require a meticulous cover. I recommended you for the job, as I have seen first-hand, the things you are capable of. If you would rather not do this, I can arrange a flight back to New York for you.” She waited, seemingly unbothered, but James could see the hidden tension in her shoulders and realised that this was more serious than Peggy had made out.

James would be the first to admit that he was an adrenaline junkie, and the addict in him began to raise its head. His work in New York, whilst different to the average person’s job, had begun to get repetitive and boring, that lack of excitement beginning to drain him.

“How long would it be?”

“We don’t know. It could range anywhere from three months to three years. Perhaps longer. This is no small undertaking, James.” Her eyes lost their playful twinkle for a moment, and James could feel the seriousness she was trying to get across.

“I’ll do it. It will be just like Paris again.” He turned his head to smile at her and she gave him a bemused smile in return.

“Here’s hoping.”

At that moment, he noticed a figure making his way down the large garden, towards the house. He walked at a brisk pace, shoulders back and gaze level as he observed his surroundings, elegance and power coiled in his muscles like a jaguar preparing to jump. James turned slightly, keeping one eye on the man, to glance at Peggy, but she appeared calm, so he settled back into his chair.

The man took the last few steps towards their little table, laden with empty plates and cups, and gracefully made his way around to greet Peggy as she stood. Up close James could see the things he hadn’t been able to before. The man was shockingly handsome, with eyes that could cut in to your very soul and a jaw strong enough to crack bones. His hands were large and callous, but still as agile as the rest of him. His shirt clung to him, as though it was straining over each of his well-defined muscles and his pants were just the same, wrapped around thick thighs that made James envious. Of the pants or the man, he wasn’t sure. He had a couple of inches on James, stopping at around 6’4, but seemed to tower over him, his presence in itself giving him at least another foot.

“Steve, darling. I’m so sorry but I’m afraid you’ve just missed tea.”

“I see you found yourself some other company.” There was no malice behind his words, just mild curiosity. His voice was like honey, deep and smooth, his accent a strong English rumble, so like Peggy’s yet so different it sent shivers running down his spine.

“Ah yes, Steve, I’d like you to meet James Barnes. James, this is Steven Rogers.” With this, Rogers turned to look at James, and James felt as though he’d just been hit by a truck. Rogers’ gaze burned his skin, assessing everything he could about James. His eyes raked up and down James, but his face remained impassive, and it bothered James more than he would care to admit. Their eyes met and Rogers stared at him, long enough to make him feel agitated, so he stared back in turn, eyes hardening and drawing up an air of false confidence. Rogers’ eyes slipped away from him with the same disinterest they had held throughout the conversation.

“He’ll be working with us Steven, so play nice.” She smiled lightly, as though his personality could be just as steely as the rest of him.

“I always play nice, Carter.” There was an ever so slight twitch to his lips and Peggy raised one elegant eyebrow.

“And what of Bulgaria?” At this, Rogers’ eyes flashed with mirth.

“Now that’s not fair is it? Those men were bullies. Someone had to sort them out.” This was an in joke, clearly, due to the way Peggy’s smile doubled in size.

“And that someone was your fist was it?”

“No. It was Romanoff’s.” Whilst not understanding a word of what they were saying, James paid close attention in case he would need it later. And besides, it was difficult not to hang off of Rogers’ every word.

“Of course, silly me.”

“You’re excused; I know it’s hard to keep up with my daring. Barnes,” At this James’ head snapped up from where he’d been gazing at the garden. “Tell me, what do I need to know about you?” James’ brain froze for a second and Rogers looked on, expectantly.

“Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, New York division. Ex-army. Speak nine different languages. Undercover experience. Make a mean vodka martini.” He listed of the items, like it was some sort of blunt CV, smirking lopsidedly at the last one. He had been told many times that his lopsided grin was overwhelmingly charming, and paired with a raised eyebrow (a skill taught to him by Peggy), he was practically irresistible.

“Is that it?” Rogers’ eyes were joking but sharp.

“The basics.” James replied with a shrug. “The rest you can find about when necessary.” Rogers turned to Peggy, eyebrows raised in amused disbelief. It was the most emotion he had shown so far.

“I can vouch for him, Steve. James is one of the most talented agents I’ve met, and I’ve met a lot. You two would make an unstoppable team-” Rogers began to protest this, but Peggy cut him off before he could. “I know, you work solo, but trust me, Steven, this will be beneficial. To you and the country.” Steve let out a heavy sigh, looked out at the garden before turning and meandering inside the house. Peggy sat back down with a smirk on her face.

“So…” James started.

“Oh, don’t bother about him. He’s just throwing a hissy fit because he’s used to working alone. But as smart as that man is, I know him better than anyone. He could use your help on a mission like this. He likes to think he can carry the world on his shoulders, he’s a bit of a drama queen that way.”

The glass doors behind them reopened, and out came Rogers, this time with a small stack of papers tucked under his arm. He stopped by the table again; close enough to James’ chair that he could smell the heady scent of sandalwood and spices.

“I’ll work with him. But he has to lose the accent.” He throws one last considering glance at James, before turning sharply on his heel and striding off the way he came.

“What’s wrong with my accent?” Peggy just patted his arm consolingly.

* * *

  
The building was plain and grey and unmemorable in every way. If Peggy hadn't come to a sudden stop in front of him, he would have walked straight past it. She turned and strode into the building, heels clicking against the stone floor and James had never felt more like a lost puppy trailing at her heels. The entrance was a large circle, with a spiral walkway curling its way up more floors than James could count. There were offices lining the walls, with large glass windows for doors and people everywhere, scurrying around like ants. No one paid them any mind as he and Peggy made their way over to the lifts, everyone either too caught up in what they were doing or pretending to be in order to avoid interaction. She pressed the button to the 52nd floor and James turned to stare out of the glass walls of the lift, at London below.

  
"Are you going to explain-" He started, after several moments of silence.

  
"Not now." She snapped at him, so he rolled his eyes and turned back to watching the city.

  
Soon enough they were stepping out of the lift and making their way down an endless series of corridors, all identical to one another. They finally reached another glass walled office, and Peggy pushed open the handle-less door. In one of the chairs was Rogers, back to them, as he flicked through something on his tablet.

  
"Agent. I see you're early. For once in your life." Rogers huffed a laugh and continued to tap away on his device.

  
"Miracles do happen, Ma'am." James made his way to the chair next to Rogers as Peggy sat behind the desk opposite them. Rogers didn't spare him a glance, still tapping away, and James sneered slightly, more put out than he dared to admit. Was he so irrelevant that Rogers couldn't even be bothered to look at him? _What a stuck-up jerk._

  
"Everything with you is a miracle. How you still have a job, being one." This sharp exchange was soothed with slight smiles and knowing looks, so James was sure it was only playful banter.

  
"Speaking of jobs," James interrupted, causing Rogers to finally glance his way, bored expression still firmly in place. James wondered if had any emotions other than bored and slightly amused. Peggy's demeanour changed from playful teasing to sharp and professional in the blink of an eye.

  
"Right, of course. This is Angie Martinelli." She brought up the picture of a young woman on a tablet which she handed him. Rogers peered over his shoulder, taking in the girl on screen. She was brunette and stunningly attractive, her delicate features laughing prettily in the photo. "Daughter of wealthy businessman George Martinelli, a man that is rich, powerful and an enemy to all. They both are."

  
"She is gorgeous." Rogers stated this in a low tone, and James wanted to roll his eyes, but could hardly disagree.

  
"Indeed. And also in danger. We believe that an attempt made be made on her life, in order to blackmail her father. We need to know if there is any truth in this, and work out who is behind this, why they might be doing such a thing. This is where you two come in. I want you to go undercover, assess the situation. Do remember, this isn't just a reconnaissance mission, there is a potential for danger everywhere."

  
"If I wasn't prepared for a little danger ma'am, I wouldn't have left Paris alive." They shared a quick smile before Peggy snapped back to her professional demeanour.

  
"Quite right James. But it wasn't you I was worried about." At this, they both turned to look at Rogers.

  
"What, a man can't have a little fun?" He quirked an eyebrow, appearing entirely sure of himself, leg crossed over his knee, arms sprawled over their rests. It was like watching a big cat, unafraid of anything in its jungle.

  
"There is a difference between fun and scaring us half to death. Q still hasn't recovered from that stunt you pulled in India." Rogers leaned forward and took Peggy's hand in his own, a bold move considering they were supposed to be professional as of now, and Peggy was technically their boss. Rogers didn't seem to care, his face slipping from playful indifference to serious in a split second, Peggy's face mirroring this.

  
"Carter, you know I never wish to scare you. You are very dear to me, remember that." Peggy's features softened into a worried smile, and James had never felt like he was intruding on something more than he did then. Rogers leaned back and the mood in the air quickly slipped back to professional. The exchange left James wondering if there was something more to their relationship that Peggy had disclosed, but James decided he was too above trivial gossip to care.

  
"Here are your covers." She typed something out quickly onto the laptop in front of her, and something immediately appeared on both his and Rogers' screens. Turning to Rogers she began. "You are to be a young wealthy bachelor, heir to a large fortune, and friend of those in high places. Talk to her and those she knows, her friends, family. Get yourself invited to parties, the house, any and all gathering she or anyone she knows has. You," She said, turning to James. "shall be his security guard. You shall focus on those around Miss Martinelli. Anyone of a lower station, anyone who may know something, but isn't necessarily there to be friends with her. These people might have overheard something, Miss Martinelli and her friends may not disclose, but others are willing to gossip over. Go see Q to get what you need for this mission. Good luck, Agents." He and Rogers both stood from their chairs and made their way to the door.

* * *

  
They were making their way down another sleek looking hallway, Rogers walking in quick strides just like Peggy, and James had to assume that it came with the job. In a few moments Rogers was pushing open yet another handle-less glass door, into a room the size of a train station. There were people roaming around with tablets, others hunched over work stations fiddling away with gadgets and the like. Rogers made his way over to the far end where one man was darting around, talking to various people whilst clicking away at different computers, looking harried.

“Q, I hear you have some new toys for me.” He clapped Q on the shoulder and the man spared him a quick glance, still tapping at a speed that made James’ fingers hurt. He was shorter than them, around 5’10, with a mop of curly grey hair and big doe eyes hidden behind glasses.

“Yeah, well these toys cost more than your salary, so please stop breaking them. You’re costing Her Majesty a fortune.” Rogers laughed and moved to keep his arm slung around Q’s shoulders.

“I’ll try to behave, but no promises.” He gave Q a grin, causing the man to blush and push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. James coughed awkwardly and Rogers seemed only just remember he had other company.

“Q, this is Barnes. Barnes, this is Dr Banner, quartermaster and all round genius.” He crossed his arms, showing off his chest in a way James refused to look at.

“Call me Q, everyone does.” He reached over and shook James’ hand, blush staying strong on his cheeks.

“Pleasure to meet you Q.” Q tilted his head to the side, like a confused dog.“Oh no, that won’t do. Go see Davis over there after we’re done, he’ll be able to help you with that accent.” James stared incredulously at him but he was quickly moving on.

“Right, here are your ‘toys’ as you so eloquently put it.” He brought out two silver Rolex watches, probably worth more than James’ apartment in New York. “Lift up the clock face, there’s a smart watch. You’ll be able to record, text and track- but there’s no connection to internet, for safety reasons. Press the crown on the side and a small needle will pop out the top, it will tranquillise anyone for about ten minutes, depending on their size.” James slipped it on his wrist and wondered if they’d notice if he kept it after their mission was done. Q then handed them both a briefcase.

“In here, is your basic gear. You’ve got a gun, phone, poison pen, all that malarkey, and a few extra things I slipped for you both as a special treat.” James put his case on the glass table, next where Rogers had put his.

“Now for the real treat.” Rogers’ eyes lit up at this, like a dog awaiting food. Q walked over to a sliding garage door, pressing a button by the side to raise it.

The door lifted to reveal a sleek Aston Martin, pure black and better than a dream.

“Aston Martin, vantage. 4.0 litre twin-turbocharged V8. 0-62 mph in 3.6 seconds and a speed of up to 195 mph. Unbeatable in style and performance.”

“She’s gorgeous.” Rogers whispers, a mad glint in his eye.

“Yeah, and I want her back just the way she left, you hear?” The anxious look on Q’s face suggested getting it back would be highly unlikely.

“Don’t worry I’ll look after her.” Said James with a sigh, as Rogers was too busy staring at the car. “Come on 007, we’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I've never actually been to Scotland or America so that's fun. Everything I've said is just stuff I vaguely remember and has a very real possibility it's completely made up. Just roll with it. This contains some very cringy lines that I already regret putting in, but to make it more James Bond 'aesthetique' I put them in. Honestly, I never actually realised but James Bond is so cringe. Almost as much as 'I love you three thousand'. That's not a moving line marvel. It's cringe. Did I still sob my eyes out? Irrelevant. Also if there are any mistakes, I only read this once and I tbh to change any of them. I have no idea when the next chapter will be up, don't expect a regular schedule.


	2. Chapter Two

Steve had been fiddling with his jacket cuffs for about ten minutes when he heard a soft knock at the door. Sighing, he straightened his jacket for a final time and went to the door, cracking it open. Behind it was Barnes, in a suit similar to his, everything neat and in its place. His hair had been parted to one side and left without any product, falling floppily into his eye. It looked as soft as down feathers, and Steve had to resist the urge to run his fingers through it. Barnes' eyes flickered to his face, his chest and back to his face as Steve silently opened the door to let him in. As he ambled in, his eyes darted around, taking in the room in an instant. His eyes were cold and clever, Steve had been rendered dumb when they first met. Barnes had met his steely gaze without trouble, returning it with an assessing look that had pierced Steve. It was like meeting Peggy all over again, intelligent eyes able to cut through Steve like soft butter.

He perched on the end of the bed, not tense, but not entirely relaxed either. His was jutting his jaw out to either side, clenching and unclenching it as his eyes flickered round the room again. Steve strolled forward slowly, coming to a stop in front of him. Barnes stared up at him, eyes blank but sharp.

"Have you learnt your cover?" His voice came out softer than he expected, and Barnes straightened up ever so slightly.

"James Barnes, 28 years of age, personal security guard. I spent the past five years in Russia, working for some very important people who I'm afraid can't be named. I joined the Royal Navy when I was eighteen. It was tough being away from my family for that long, but I got to visit my mother back in Edinburgh from time to time, so it wasn't all bad. She passed away whilst I was in Russia, it was the reason I came back. My father had died when I was a baby, so I don't really remember him." He said all of this with a soft Scottish lilt, that was authentic enough that Steve would have believed it was real, had he not known otherwise. Steve nodded stiffly, swallowing hard at the earnest look Barnes was giving him.

"Very good." He replied in an equally soft tone, causing Barnes to narrow his eyes, probably thinking he was being patronising. Steve had meant the comment in earnest, but it helped with his apathetic facade for Barnes to think he was being rude. There was something about the man that unnerved him in a way Steve didn't know how to deal with.

"And you?" Barnes replied, tone even but slightly scornful.

"Steve Rogers, wealthy heir always looking for a good party. I had been travelling for the past few years- India, Spain, Scotland- which is where I met you. I was staying in a family home up in Edinburgh and met you in a pub. You were looking for work, and I'm planning on staying around for the time being, so it was a win-win situation. I studied Fine Art at Brasenose College, Oxford and got a first. Anything else we can just figure out in the moment, yes?" He nodded, silent and seemingly distracted.

"Barnes." He uttered softly, waiting to gain his attention. "You are ready, right? Carter told me you were one of the best she'd ever worked with. I'd hate for me to have to question her judgement." Despite Steve's soft tone, something in Barnes' eyes hardened and he became even colder, a feat Steve did not know was possible.

"I'm fine. Let's go." With that he stood, shouldering past Steve as he made his way towards the door.

* * *

The car roared gently as they stopped in front of the Martinelli's house. The party appeared in full swing, with music echoing dully in the night air, and light spilling from every available window, of which there were many. The house was decadent in the way all period houses were. To call it a house was probably an insult, Steve mussed. The face loomed over them, at least five stories as far as he could tell, and the house probably spanned back much further. The limestone was illuminated from the lights inside, the bay windows open to allow the sounds of laughter to be heard from where they sat in the drive. Steve turned to Barnes.

"I shall leave the car here, in case we need to leave quickly. Don't drink too much, you'll need your wits about you, and remember to try and talk to the staff. Not necessarily for information, just to get to know them."

"You act like I've never done this before." He said and a bemused expression graced his features, causing Steve to narrow his eyes slightly.

"Look I don't know you, and I don't know how you do things in America, but we are in England now, and that means you do as we do. Follow my lead, and don't cock it up." He opened the car door and got out, hearing Barnes huff a small laugh.

"Yes Sir." He said snidely, the Scottish accent thick in his words sending a slight shiver down Steve's spine that he elected to ignore.

He knocked on the door, two sharp raps and a man in well fitting suit answered the door. The man gestured the two of them inside, seemingly recognising them, and Steve had to assume that was Peggy's doing. They both nodded politely and made their way in to the main house. The party was raging, music loud enough to deafen, and Steve had to catch a few drunk people who stumbled into his path. He glanced behind him to see Barnes behind him, carefully taking the scene in, when he spotted Angie Martinelli.

Angie Martinelli was a beautiful woman, and not just for her elegant features. Her eyes lit up with a wit and enthusiasm Steve rarely saw, and easy smile always graced her lips. That evening she was in a shimmering silver dress, reminiscent of a 1920's flapper girl. It looked like flowing water each time she moved, catching the light and drawing all attention towards her in an enrapturing way.

Steve made his way to the seat one away from her at the bar, nodding to the bar man and asking for a martini as he listened into the conversation Martinelli was having. Her earlier ease and jovial expression had slipped away in the presence of this man, and it was no wonder as to why. He was tall, almost Steve's height, and had a small amount of muscle hidden underneath his ill fitting suit. His hair was slicked back and greasy in the low light, causing Steve to shiver at the phantom sense of oil on his skin. The man leered at Martinelli, who was as far back as her chair would allow, using his height to intimidate her.

"...no one will notice, if we just slip away." He leered again, a savage grin crawling across his face in a way he probably thought was charming. Martinelli's fingers were white where she gripped the bar in her distress.

"No, I'm fine thanks." She replied, clipped and uncomfortable.

"Oh, just for a little bit. You know, it's not like anyone else here would want you. Just come with me." His tone was getting harder and more threatening and Steve had decided it was time to step in.

"I think you'll find she has already declined. Perhaps you should go and find someone else to... proposition." A menacing smile graced his lips, one that had unnerved many in the past, but this man was adamant to keep up.

"I think you should go mind your own business, mate. Me and the lady are having a conversation here." His leer had dropped off of his face, and he was now scowling at Steve. Steve only smirked in response, arms crossed over his chest in a way that showed the muscles that screamed not to be messed with.

"Is that what you called it? Gosh, I thought you were auditioning for a new titanic remake. Ten out of ten, it was very tragic. Unfortunately I'm not a big fan of sob stories, so if you wouldn't mind leaving it would be greatly appreciated." The man's face had gone red and blotchy from anger, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before Steve leaned in.

"I suggest you leave now mate, unless you want to go for a couple of rounds with my Kalashnikov." He pressed the knife into the man's thigh for emphasis. Steve heard the man gulp as he weighed up the risks before grunting angrily and storming away. The bemused smile had never left Steve's face and he turned to Martinelli with charm oozing out of him in waves. She visibly melted and let out a little sigh, her pretty lips regaining their earlier smile.

"Are you okay? I hope he didn't hurt you, did he?" His features slipped into a look of worry easily and by the look on Martinelli's face she was already well on her way to being smitten.

"No, I'm fine, thanks to you. Gosh, I hate men like that. He just waltzed right up and wouldn't leave." Her accent was a smooth general American, with a slower drawl that might have been due to the alcohol or could just as well have been Steve.

"Sounds very bothersome." He replied, easy smile slipping onto his face once again.

"Yeah, I'll bet." The both smiled at each other for a second before Steve held out his hand.

"Rogers. Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you." She slipped her hand into his and he brought it to his lips with a feather light kiss, keeping eye contact that ensured she melted like butter.

"Angie Martinelli, it's lovely to meet you too." Steve dropped her hand and signalled to the bar tender.

"Fancy a drink?" He asked in reference to the empty glass sat in front of her.

"A martini, shaken not stirred." He ordered at her nod. He turned back to her, taking a sip from his drink as she spoke.

"So, what brings you here, Mr Rogers?" She asked, a shy smile thrown his way.

"I'm in the business of selling art. I'll be working here for the foreseeable future." Her eyes sparkled in away that enthralled Steve.

"I'm happy to hear that. It's good to have knights in shining amour around." He chuckled and glanced down bashfully.

"Yes, I suppose it is."

* * *

After Steve had left him to seek out Angie, James had wandered around, sizing up who to talk to. Most seemed to be party guests, and too drunk to bother remembering his name if he did speak to them. He had resigned himself to leaning against one of the walls in the living room watching the goings on with a glass of scotch held loosely by his fingertips.

"You're clearly having one hell of a time." A voice says beside him and James glances over, surprised the man next to him had spoken. James had noticed him earlier, taken in everything in a glance, so now he studied the man properly. He was of average height, had dark skin and a gap between his two front teeth that was quite endearing. He stood with a relaxed posture, one hand in his pocket the other holding a drink, but James could see the hidden tension in his shoulders, and knew that the man hadn't been drinking the drink in his hand. 

"Well, as the life of the party it does get a bit tiring, constantly tending to my admirers." He gestured to the few people in the room, all caught up in their own conversations. He made sure to speak with the Scottish accent he had practised with Q, as he had found English to difficult to get his tongue around (is what he had said, but truth be told he found Scottish far more roguish). Apparently Rogers had't been joking about getting rid of the Brooklyn accent he had, and James could only wonder why. The man James was speaking to had a similar accent, from somewhere near New York, and looked as though he was assessing James right back.

"Man, shut up, you could get admirers if you wanted; it's your own fault you're stuck moping in the corner."

"I'm not moping." He scoffed into his glass as he took a big gulp.

"I've done enough moping in corners to know when someone's moping in a corner." His smile was easy and authentic as they both laughed and James felt himself relax slightly. "I'm Sam Wilson."

"James Barnes."

"So, why are you moping in the corner? Girl troubles." James snorted in reply.

"Boy troubles?" Sam tried again; James just gave him a look in reply. "Neither, huh. So tell me what's up." James mused for a second, returning his gaze to the party before replying.

"Ever get that feeling that you want to be literally anywhere else other than where you are now."

“Of course, man. But then I spent a few tours in Iraq and I figured, hey maybe civilian life isn’t as bad as I thought.” He said it lightly but the words struck James in a way he couldn’t say.

“At least at war I can blame the enemy. Back here the only one I can blame for my situation is myself.” Sam raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath.

"Damn, this conversation got deep real fast. You served, then?"

"Joined the Royal Navy when I was eighteen, it was my whole life for a couple of years. It gets a bit too much to handle sometimes." James stared down into his drink before taking a swig. Whilst he hadn't been in the navy, like he said, he'd been doing the whole spies and secrecy shit for longer than he cared to think about. It had taken over his life, so that he often missed the ordinary world. But there was no place for people like him in the ordinary world, there was no way he could ever leave this life, even if he wanted to.

"I get you. Coming back from Iraq was a bit of a culture shock for me. It felt like everything in my life had been moved just a few inches to the left, and couldn't help stumbling into everything. Tv shows, birthdays, I missed a lot. It's not the big things that get to you, the politics and all that, it's being part of a conversation and not knowing any of the inside jokes, going round to see your little nephew and he doesn't remember you. But you just gotta keep moving on with your life. There are friends and family here that need you, and you can't just give up, 'cause you matter a lot to them, y'know." James swallowed around the lump in his throat and coughed a little.

"What a motivational speech you got there." He hoked, trying to make the situation a bit lighter.

"Oh yeah sorry about that. I'm VA councillor back in the states, I often find myself slipping back into the job unintentionally." He huffed out a little laugh and took a sip of his drink.

"A councillor, huh? What you doing all the way over here then, in this mansion of a place." He asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm a friend of Angie's brother. We met through the VA, struck up a bit of a friendship. He lives in the states, but he asked if I wanted to come over with him for a family reunion, and I agreed. Got a bit of family out here that I thought I'd go and see. What about you, you hardly seem like the extravagant party type." James barked out a laugh at that, he'd probably been to more extravagant parties than any of the other guests here.

"I've had my fair share." He winked at Sam who responded with a grin. "But I'm actually on duty tonight. See that blond guy over there chatting up your mate's sister? I'm his bodyguard." He pointed through the open doorway to where Rogers was laughing with Martinelli. He caught James's eye and gave a slight wave, grin firmly in place. James just raised his eyebrows.

"Seems alright." Sam shrugged, noticing James' indifference.

"Ah, he's not so bad, I suppose. Bit of a pillock from time to time, but not a bad guy." James replied, conveniently forgetting to mention how every other thing Rogers did grated on his nerves.

"So, protection then?" James just shrugged and gave out a long-suffering sigh.

"Seemed like the most logical option after I got back. I did a bit Russia, but got homesick. This isn't a good as Scotland, but it'll do."

"Man, everyone here is so strange, all sat around with their afternoon tea and passive-aggressive eyebrows. I've never felt so judged."

"Aye, you should come and visit Scotland. Join me on a pub crawl, and we can be aggressive-aggressive, none of this snarky bullshit." James grinned, holding back a laugh.

"A pub crawl in Scotland? I've seen how they drink here, I can't even imagine Scotland. I don't think I'd even manage a crawl by the end of it. I'd just be a lifeless puddle of alcohol poisoning."

At that moment, a tall blond man peered into the room and called Sam's name. He was well built and looked remarkably similar to Martinelli, and James guessed that he must be the friend Sam had mentioned earlier.

"That's my cue to leave, hopefully I'll see you round." With that he flashed James a lazy salute and bounded off. James sighed and downed the rest of his drink as he was left once again in his own company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short, I've kind of split the chapters up into different scenes, and the next bit is completely unrelated to this, so I didn't want to add to it. I've kind of be stuck on this chapter for about a month, and I don't want to post a chapter until I've got the next one finished, so it took me a while to actually put this up, but then I got all your lovely comments and was hyped up enough to finish the next chapter after this, so that one should be out soon too.


	3. Chapter Three

James had always enjoyed English pubs. There was no obligation to do anything, he could converse quietly with the barman or some of the other patrons, he could play a round of darts, or he could sit quietly in the corner with his pint. Despite the close community feel where everyone knew each others names, newcomers and outsiders would not be shunned. There was a freedom to pubs that James could never find in New York.

The pub he was a classic English pub. It had a warm and cosy feel to it, wood-panelled walls adorned with paintings and photographs and old brass kitchen ware. Candles illuminated the mismatched leather chairs that had probably been around as long as the permanently beer-stained floorboards. That evening James was sat at a little table in a nook tucked away beside the large black fireplace, a roaring fire making up for the cool autumn night. The night was late, more and louder people flooding in as the hour increased. James watched the room carefully, absentmindedly fiddling with a nick in the old wooden table. The door swung open and in walked a man, large in stature with cropped black hair, thick black coat wrapped tightly around him. He glanced around the room briefly before spotting James and making his way over to the table.

"James, good to see you." He said when he got close enough to not have to yell. James grasped his out-stretched hand, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"I'm glad you could make it, Brock." They both took their seats and James signalled to the bartender for another drink.

"Not a chance I'm gonna miss seeing my pal when he comes to all the effort of crossing the pond." Brock had moved to York when he met his wife Amanda, who had been studying in the states when they met. It had been a couple of years since they had last seen each other, James always away on missions around the world and Brock busy with his agency here, so James was glad of the chance to see his friend again.

"So how have you been?"

"Ah good, settled into the job at the agency, it's better to not be moving around all the time, especially 'cause of Amanda's hours at the hospital. I'd never get to see her if I was still in the old job." He and Brock had both worked for S.H.I.E.L.D's New York division, becoming close and working together on many missions but when he had moved to York, he had requested more of a behind-the-scenes job. "You still working there?"

"Yeah, that's why I'm over here actually, friend called in a favour. It's gonna be a long one." Despite the secrecy of the job, James trusted Brock, as he knew how cloak and dagger it could all be. "Heard of Angie Martinelli? Some high-ups are worried about her, think someone might have it in for her. Hardly a state secret, so I think there's more going on that they're letting on." Brock nodded his head, eyebrows scrunched up in thought.

"Sounds like someone in the service might be more invested than you know, and I doubt it's 'cause any of them are her biggest fans. Probably worried about something she's got or something she's going to do. Don't want to give an advantage to the enemy. Or maybe it's not about her at all." James cocked his head to one side, urging Brock to continue. "It's her daddy that's got all the influence, right? Money, power, who knows what. Could easily be illegal dealings in that, maybe working with Alexander Pierce. He's been cropping up on our radar a lot recently, seems like a bit of a coincidence all this is happening at the same time. Sounds to me like the poor girl's just a pawn in a dangerous man's game." Brock sat back in his chair and took a large gulp of his drink as James thought the idea over. There was a real possibility Brock was right. Whilst Martinelli had money and a pretty face, it was hardly enough to get her majesty's secret service to worry about her. Her father having dangerous information they don't want getting into the wrong hands, definitely sounded more plausible.

"I think you might be on to something, Brock. I'll see what I can find out about him. See what my partner thinks." James took a big swig of his drink and watched a couple of men by the bar, joking around and laughing with one another.

"Who's that then. Your partner?" Brock inquired.

"Ever heard of a guy called Steve Rogers?" Brock's eyes rose to meet his forehead.

"You're working with Rogers? Damn, this must be serious. James just raised an eyebrow in response.

"Steve Rogers is one of the best agents in the business." He started, understanding James' confusion. "They call him Agent A in the service, no one knows why. Some say it's because he was the first and best agent in some special team, pride of place. Some say it's ironic, that the A stands for America, and Rogers' lack of justice. It's all gossip anyway. He first showed up a couple of years ago, out of nowhere. Had no background, social media- hell not even a birth certificate. Steve Rogers ain't his real name, you know. He showed up, some shadow of a man, but the things he could do. No man should be able to do any of that. His enemies call him the ghost, he's a bit of a myth. Not many people have ever seen his face, some don't even think he exists. Christ, pal, you sure have moved up in the world if you're working with him." James sat back in his chair and thought this over. There was something dangerous to Steve Rogers that James had noticed immediately, something different to any other agents he'd seen. Despite the calm facade, James could tell there was something almost primal underneath, an ape-like fury ready to burst out with one wrong look. It would make sense that the man was a legend, a god amongst men. Though he loathed to admit it, he had wanted to see Rogers in action since the moment they'd met.

"Well he's a bit of a punk if I'm honest with ya. Bit up himself. Said my accent 'wouldn't do'. Makes out like he's worlds above me just 'cause he's English. I can't wait to get this mission over with." James sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"You could always join me in the Yorkshire countryside. There's lots of cows." Brock reasoned

"I do like cows." James nodded seriously, before they made eye contact and burst out laughing. The spoke for a while longer, catching up and joking around like they used to. James had forgotten how much he'd missed his friend's presence and took solace in the fact they could meet up more frequently while James was working here. A few hours later and Brock left to go pick up Amber, who'd been seeing one of her friends whilst they came down for the day. James was left to enjoy the lively peace of the pub, watching the different pub goers drink and chat in the dim light of the fire and scattered candles. The door swung open again and in stepped a man with a familiar blond head of hair. He looked around the pub a moment before he noticed James hidden away in the corner. He went over to the bar and ordered a drink before making his way to James's secluded table.

"Barnes. Fancy meeting you here." Everything Rogers said was said in a monotone drawl that James found infuriating. In fact, most things Rogers did were infuriating.

"Well, I'm not a recluse, Rogers." He replied stiffly, hoping in vain that the man wouldn't sit down.

"You're table choice suggests otherwise." He said, accepting his drink from the barmaid who blushed heavily throughout the whole interaction.

"Clearly you didn't take the hint." James pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands, as despite the heat from the fire, the swing of the door opening and shutting was creating a breeze that was beginning to numb his fingers.

"Don't be like that, James. We should talk, get to know each other a bit more." He had one arm bent on the back of the chair, the other stretched out in front of him, tapping at the table. He had on a black trench coat that James could tell was more expensive than anything he owned, and black leather gloves covering the cuffs of the white sweater he had on. Even out of his suit, he still looked expensive and smart, and James had to hold back an eye roll at the arrogance of it all.

"What do you want to talk about then?" He sighed, realising Rogers wouldn't be leaving any time soon. Rogers paused for a few moments, and James thought he might not have heard, before he began to speak.

"How do you know Carter?" He asked, leaning in so his arms rested on the table. Instead of intimidating, Rogers looked curious, a break from his trademark disinterest.

"I've done a few jobs for her before. A couple of missions. She's the best there is, if she calls in a favour, I'll be there. What about you?" Rogers looked at him for a moment, assessing before his eyes dropped to where James' fingers were curled around his hoodie cuffs.

"She recruited me. I showed up, she took one look at me and decided I could work for her. I owe Peggy a lot in life, I wouldn't be half the man I am today without her." His brows had furrowed and he chewed his lip in thought. James got the strong impression Rogers didn't often talk about himself to others, which made James wonder why he was doing so now.

"You do seem close." James mused, taking a sip from his drink so as to avoid watching Rogers.

"There's nothing going on with Peggy and me." He said, slightly bemused.

"Hey, I didn't say nothing." He said, holding his hands up in surrender. Rogers glanced up and matched his smirk before his eyes dropped back down.

"No, she's not really my...type." He said with a slight laugh, and James thought there was probably something he was missing.

"No, I suppose you're probably a bit more into Miss Martinelli." He said, wiggling his eyebrows. Rogers huffed out a proper laugh at this. 

"Miss Martinelli...no, she's just a girl, too ignorant of the world. She's sweet enough to talk to, I suppose, but... I don't know. We hardly have shared life experience.

"If it's shared life experience you're after, I could hook you up with some of the New York gals. Very fiery indeed." James didn't know when he'd decided to become so friendly towards Rogers, but he supposed Rogers' willingness to open up had surprised James. He was still an arrogant punk, but Peggy clearly liked him- and if there was anyone's opinion he trusted more than his own, it was Peggy's.

"I don't know, I find the accent can be quite grating, don't you think?"

"Shut up, ya jerk." He laughed and Rogers just gave him an endearing grin in response. They spoke for a little while longer, into the late hours of the night, and whilst James still found himself having to grit his teeth no less at Rogers' arrogance, he appeared to lose some of the disdain he'd had when they first met. Perhaps Peggy had had a word with him, since she could spot anything wrong from a mile off. After they parted ways, James found himself walk down dimly illuminated streets, thinking about Angie, and Brock and always circling back round to Steve Rogers.

* * *

As the days grew colder, James began settling into English life. He would meet up with Sam during lunch, who introduced him to Wanda Maximoff, a girl who was very good friends with Angie Martinelli despite working for her. Each day he would go into the office, spend some time digging around and sorting out what he could find about the Martinellis. Back in New York, his colleagues complained about the stacks of paperwork they had to do, but James had always found there to be something quite cathartic about it. Here in England, complaining tended to be more about the weather and the canteen food, and he had his own office to be able to organise in peace. Well, relative peace, since it was often interrupted by Peggy and Rogers, the latter of whom never seemed to be there for any sort of purpose. He would come in with out so much as a hello, getting into a story about someone or other, to which James would reply in hums of accent whenever necessary as he continued with his work. Rogers' presence was becoming more familiar by the day, as each evening they would meet up and have a pint in The Red Lion- the most common pub name in England, according to Rogers. Rogers, James found, was very into trivial knowledge like this. His eyes would light up whenever he knew a small fact about something, and James would always nod in interest as this was the only time Rogers ever seemed to get excited, explaining some obscure concept or the strangely informed history of random buildings.

He was so settled, he had begun to forget about his conversation with Brock, that first night in Autumn. After a few weeks of searching, James could find nothing to support the idea that the Martinellis might be up to anything illegal, meaning the threat was still ever present with no leads to help him. Rogers had begun spending more and more time with Martinelli, clearly putting whoever it was off of hurting her. He never spoke about it, but James sensed what Brock had told him about Rogers was truer than his friend knew.

As James was combing through the same information again, looking for anything he might have missed, he got an email from one of the British research divisions. Upon opening it up, he realised it was Brock, but that was not what caught his attention. Inside was files upon files about Alexander Pierce, know crime lord operating in London. He'd been on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar for a few years now, due to his suspected involvement in arms dealing, but it appeared his activity had increased dramatically, just as Brock had said. As James scrolled through it, he noticed one of the places Pierce frequented, a club called The Lucky Clover. Instantly the name rang alarm bells in his head. The Lucky Clover was the club George Martinelli had gone to a few times over the past years, but James hadn't considered this important, since it was one of the less visited ones Martinelli went to. As he looked further he noticed the dates of these visits matched with the times Pierce was also there. There were a few blurry photos attached, but James was almost positive he could recognise Martinelli's silhouette in the dark street.

James yanked the laptop off of his desk and booked it down the hall as calmly as his nerves would allow, which, in retrospect, wasn't that calm. Without knocking, James burst into Peggy's office.

"Peggy, you need to-" He stopped short when he noticed a woman sat opposite Peggy, drinking from a paper coffee cup.

"James. What on earth is this all about." Peggy asked sharply, disapproval rolling off her in waves.

"Yeah, what the hell, dude? We're kind of in a meeting right now." The girl asked in a strong American accent, a mix of confusion and disgust on her face. James immediately felt cowed, but was no less distressed by what he had found.

"Uh, look, I'm sorry but Peg- Ms Carter, you have to see this." Peggy still looked annoyed but now it was lined with worry.

"I'm terribly sorry Miss Lewis, but would you excuse us?" Peggy said apologetically to the woman opposite her. Lewis rolled her eyes but otherwise seemed unbothered.

"Don't worry Pegs, I'll see you later. Excuse me, mister." She said, anger melting away almost instantly, replaced by a bored expression. James muttered an apology and moved out the way of the door.

"So what was so important that you interrupted my meeting?" James jumped into action once again, striding over to her desk and shoving the laptop in front of her.

"Who put out the order on protecting Angie?" Peggy was clearly weighing up whether she should be telling him classified information, but at his desperate eyes she sighed.

"Colonel Phillips, why?" The worry on her face deepened with each second.

"See this club? It's the same one Martinelli's visited, at the same times no less. And those photos? I'll bet my left arm that's Martinelli. I know it's not a lot, but I bet it leads to a hell of a lot more. I'll bet someone in the service doesn't want Martinelli working with Pierce, and I reckon it's not because they have good intentions. I reckon it goes deeper than just Martinelli and Pierce. I'll bet Pierce knows who it is, that's why he's protecting her." Peggy's eyes darted over the laptop screen as she took everything in. 

"That seems a very complex idea from a few photos."

"I've had a lot of time to think on it." Her lips pursed and she took a pad of paper from her desk and began to scribble something down in her neat font.

"Here." She said, shoving the paper at him. "It's a list of people who would know about any deals Pierce and Martinelli might be doing. See if any of them have any reason to stop it from happening." James looked down at the short list and felt his heart drop to his stomach. Right at the bottom was one name glaring back at him.

Timothy Dugan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short and took a while, the next chapter has been a pain, and I wanted to get that finished before I published this. Also, I realise there hasn't been much action so far, so I've tried to include a bit more in the next chapter and there will be just generally more secret-agent-ing as this goes on.


	4. Chapter 4

Ever since his meeting with Peggy, James had been conflicted. Him and Dugan had trained together, as a part of the S.H.I.E.L.D recruits program. They'd gotten close, him and his team. He still worked with Jones and Morita back in New York but Dugan, Falsworth and Dernier had been transferred to the French division a couple of years after training. He hadn't spoken to Dugan in years, but his mind still shouted wrong, wrong, wrong whenever he thought Dugan could be behind all of this. But he had promised Peggy he would check out everyone on the list, so he would, no matter how much in made his heart wrench.

Steve had noticed something was up, there was no two ways about it. Even if he wasn't the world's most feared spy, they knew each other well enough to know the others' tells. James knew Steve hadn't said anything about it, because he was waiting for James to come to him. However James' plan was to just lock up all his feeling and bury them deep down in the pits of his heart and try to forget about them until after he'd checked Dugan out. That always worked well for people didn't it? They wouldn't always go on about it in the movies if it didn't. Then again he never really got to finish many movies due to his work, so he was hardly an expert. As far as he knew Rose and Jack were still having a jolly good time on that cruise.

He had been busying his time with work to try and distract himself from everything going on, spending more time with Q in the lab. He'd learned to really enjoy Q's company, a quite calm in the storm that was his job. Every time he entered the lab Q offered him a herbal tea, which he always accepted. They chatted about new prototypes and James told him about his sister who was an engineer back in America, one of Stark Industries top designers. At this Q had laughed and asked if he'd ever met Tony Stark.

"I've never had the pleasure." He said politely, and Q's grin grew even wider.

"I wouldn't call it a pleasure, exactly. Tony can be quite...full on." He sighed long-suffering, as though remembering a particularly difficult encounter.

"Really? I find that har- actually no, I find that very easy to believe." James recalled several unfavourable news articles about the man.

"Tony's- well. Tony is the best, no getting around it. The man's a genius, I worked with him for a while when I was in America, it was difficult to keep up sometimes. But his genius is often overshadowed by his... lively personality, shall we say." James was about to reply when he felt an arm slip around his shoulders, and turned to see Rogers relaxed and holding a cup of tea.

"Looked for you in your office, but you weren't there." Clearly Rogers had gotten bored with whatever he was supposed to be doing, a very frequent experience, James found. Rogers was the sort of man who could just as easily be distracted by a stone on the ground as he could end up falling into a Wikipedia spiral. The only time James ever saw him properly focused was on missions. He guessed life was probably quite boring for some, compared with shooting at people on top of moving trains.

"I'm an international man of mystery, what do you expect?" James replied wryly. Rogers snorted and took a big drink of his tea. "We were just talking about Tony Stark, you know him?" He only sighed in response.

"We've met a few times, didn't really get on. I don't speak science and he kept trying to throw digs at me. I'm not his biggest fan, he's a bit too impulsive. Always breaking the rules with no regard."

"You're one to talk." James laughed, and Rogers cuffed him lightly on the side of the head with the hand that was resting on James' shoulder.

"I don't break the rules- I speak to whoever's in charge and get them to bend the rules for whatever I need to do."

"You sound like a middle-class white mom arguing with the staff in whole foods."

"I didn't understand a word of what you just said, but I'm going to take it as a compliment." Rogers sniffed. James smiled and turned back to Q when dread filled his stomach. Behind Q's head, Dugan had just walked in. It was clear Rogers had noticed too, and called Dugan over to where they were chatting.

"Steve, how are you, pal?" Dugan boomed in a voice that was just as big as his personality. Timothy Dugan was a large, broad shouldered man with a big ginger moustache hiding an even bigger smile. He laughed as easily as most people breathed, and that was probably why they'd hit it off so quickly in training, James' dry wit always making Dugan crack up.

"I'm doing alright. This place is certainly keeping me busy." Rogers' arm slipped off his shoulder in order to give Dugan a hug, and James couldn't quell the slight disappointment he felt. Dugan smiled wide, and was about about to reply when eyes caught on James.

"Well I'll be damned, if it ain't Bucky Barnes, in the flesh." He laughed, astonished and dragged James into a bear hug. "I was starting to think you'd been offed in the middle of East Asia or somewhere. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes." James pulled back and tried to hide the rising panic inside. He'd trained for years to become one of the best in S.H.I.E.L.D, and as soon as it came to investigating one of his friends, he acted like a shitty double agent in a Bourne film.

"Can't get rid of me that easily." He met eyes with Rogers who was giving him a slightly befuddled look.

"Bucky?" He asked, deep English voice sounding the name out awkwardly, like it was some foreign dish he couldn't pronounce. James groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"It's what my sister used to call me when we were little. The guys ending up finding out about it when we hit the town a little too hard. Never stopped giving me shit about it." Rogers smiled, and Dugan burst out into another booming laugh. Despite the overwhelming guilt, he was elated to see the guy again after so long. Meeting up with all of his old pals was making him realise just how isolated he'd become.

"You've got to be careful Barnes, or you'll begin to lose your reputation as cold hard killer." Rogers joked, mock seriously and James narrowed his eyes in return before turning back to Dugan.

"I thought you were working in France?" He questioned, the thought niggling at him.

"Yeah I was for a while, but then I helped a few people out, earnt a promotion and got moved here. Frenchie's still out there though. Chatting up all the French girls with his stories about the American's." James smiled ruefully, remembering Dernier's reputation as a ladies man. At the same time however, he couldn't help but wonder about the people Dugan had 'helped out', or about what he'd done. James quashed the thought and turned back to the conversation.

"So how do you know Barnes? Or should I say Bucky?" Rogers grinned mischievously. James just gave him a flat look.

"No, you should not. Me and Dugan were in S.H.I.E.L.D training together. Got to listen to them complaining about the food every day."

"That food was funky, and you know it Barnes."

"Always so dramatic, Dum Dum." As soon as he said the old nickname, he felt sick. This was his friend, his brother, the man he'd spent years of his life around. And now he was going behind his back to find out if he was part of some underground criminal organisation. Luckily the Dugan didn't notice his inner turmoil, but Rogers did, and put his arm back round James' shoulders and gave his arm a slight squeeze. 

"Hardly dramatic if everyone was saying it. Look I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a meeting with the Colonel, and you know how he gets when you're late. I'll see you boys around." And with that, he spun around and ambled away, whistling some jaunty tune. James sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.

* * *

The sky was grey and the wind bit at his skin as Steve waited for Angie Martinelli. They'd agreed to meet up for coffee, which left him standing stoically in the cold, trying not to let the wind knock him over. A few minutes went by before he saw a young woman rushing towards him, dressed up nicely in a camel trench coat and red heeled boots.

"Sorry, sorry! I told Riley I'd come and see him at lunch and I got distracted. Come on, let's get out of this awful cold." They walked down the street a little ways, Angie telling him all about her brother Riley's current architecture project, until they reached a small artisan coffee shop. Angie had a knack of being able to find the best coffee shops in London, dragging Steve to each and everyone of them. The talked for a while about different things, conversation flowing easily. Angie often went of on tangents, and all Steve listened intently, subtly checking for any information that might be of use.

"...and it's so annoying, because I have to listen to all of it, because my father's practically never home! There's only so many times to you can listen to the deeper meanings of Pulp Fiction." She had been bemoaning her mother's work as a film critic, but something else had caught Steve's attention.

"Where do you think he's going?" He asked casually, wondering about the illustrious father he had never actually met.

"Oh, he goes to meet with his business associates, I think. They came round to our house a few times, and honestly! I thought they were criminals from the looks of them. All greased back hair and bad fitting suits. I accidentally made eye contacting with one of them, and I thought the man had died! Nothing in his eyes, they were like soulless pits. It was so disturbing." His eyebrows raised and his face mirrored her disgust. There was nothing Angie liked more than a good gossip.

"Christ, what do you think they do?" He asked in an incredulous tone.

"Oh something dodgy, I'm sure. I don't know why daddy meets with them. Especially the old guy. He is by far the creepiest of the lot. Apparently he's got lots of influence or something like that. I don't think daddy knows they're bad guys though, he's never been the best judge of character. I just don't know what to do! I want to help him, but I don't even know where to start, I can hardly just go up to the police and say 'hey, my daddy's working with some dodgy guys, but he's innocent'. Who the hell would believe that. I'm just worried about what could happen to him, to all of us." Steve mulled this over for a moment. Angie was probably right about her father- out of the two of them she knew him the best, and he doubted George Martinelli would risk his family by working with these guys if he knew who they really were.

"I'd say just leave it- whatever you're father's doing, he probably doing it for a good reason." Steve makes a mental note to check any business associates that may want George harm- whether it be the ones Angie told him abut, or someone that could have put George in touch with them.

"Yeah, you're right. Any way- how's your art going?" Steve begins to tell her all about the made up art business that Q and his team had carefully created, all whilst creating a mental plan of how to help the Martinellis.

* * *

James checked his watch again. 11:05. He shifted slightly, trying to regain circulation in his arm. He'd been lying on the roof of the building for about two hours now, and his fingers had gone numb about an hour ago. Opposite him the door of the club swung open, revealing a couple, stumbling into each other and laughing as they staggered down the street. He sighed and shifted again. He was waiting for one of the contacts Brock had included in the file on Pierce, who was supposed to show up five minutes ago. James had taken the spot on the roof a few hours before in order to scope the place out, in case he saw anything else going on.

From around the corner he saw a man walking hurriedly down the street, glancing over his shoulder nervously ever once in a while. This must be the guy. He rolled over to the side of the building, staying low before scaling down it in a way that had earnt him the respect of several high up members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Waiting for the guy to turn away, he snuck up behind him. The man turned back round and jumped three feet in the air when he saw James glowering at him.

"Jesus fucking... what the hell. Spies, honestly." He muttered to himself and James just stared blankly at him.

"You James Barnes?" The guy asked warily to which James nodded stiffly in reply.

"Pierce was certainly intrigued when you contacted. Not every day a spy is willing to betray his country." James just continued to glower at him.

"Not my country." His voice was like gravel and man's eyes widened a little before he jerked his head to the door in a sign for James to follow him. He opened the door of the grotty club, a led James down a dank, dimly lit hallway, floor sticky with spilt drinks and cigarette butts littered everywhere. There were a few people scattered about, but they mostly just ignored him. As they moved into the main room of the club, the music got louder and louder until James could feel the beat pulsing through his chest. There were bright lights flashing everywhere and a swarm of people, writhing on the dance floor. James shoved his way through the crowd, catching drunk party goers and pushing them aside. The man opened up a small red door, hidden away at the back of the room and James followed him inside, squinting as one particularly bright light flashed in his eyes before he escaped into the room.

The room was some how darker, but the noise from the club was muffled through the door, making it easier for James to think. There were a few men milling around but James' eye was immediately drawn to the man in the corner. He was older, his hair a shiny silver grey, and he was clearly important. He sat with a confidence that showed he could have anyone in the room killed with the flick of his wrist, probably by the two hulking men stood by him, some sort of protection no doubt.

"Ah, Mr Barnes, how lovely to meet you." His voice was cold and soft, speaking of something truly monstrous. James' hackles were instantly raised, but he stood stoic and unaffected.

"Mr Pierce." He nodded in greeting.

"So, word on the street is that you're interested in a little present I've got, is that right?" Pierce dragged his finger around the rim of his glass, only mildly interested in the conversation.

"That I am. Do you have it?" Pierce sighed and looked up at him.

" You're very interesting Mr Barnes." James quirked his eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, I can't help but wonder what is going on here. You, a secret agent, who has dedicated his life to 'saving his country' suddenly decides to betray it all. Seems a little... odd, don't you think?" James clenched his teeth, holding back a sigh.

"I can assure you, sir, there is nothing sudden about all of this. It is very easy for a man to begin to hate is country. There is a lot to hate, don't you agree?" Pierce looked considering for a moment before nodding in concession.

"I suppose you're right. Anyway, it's no skin off my nose. All the government agencies know I have this weapon, clearly. Lloyd, show him the weapon." One of the men stood by him turned and reached behind him to grab a briefcase which he then lay on the table. Opening it up, he turned it towards James, who leaned forwards to take a look. Inside was a mass of wires and a little red flashing light. The bomb was complex, and, according to his contact, almost completely inconspicuous despite it's lethal nature.

"Everything to your liking, Mr Barnes?" Pierce drawled.

"Perfect."

"Well, I've yet to decide who's getting it. Could be you, could be some other clients, Major Disturbance Groups, I call them. They're very big fans of my work."

"So how am I supposed to get my hands on it?"

“Well, it all depends on how much you want it, Mr Barnes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, been longer than I expected for me to actually post this. I kind of just kept forgetting? that this existed????? But yeah it's here now


	5. Chapter Five

With each day that passed, London got colder and the nights got darker. The lead up to Christmas saw decorations going up in shop windows and down streets, lit up with fairy lights. Whilst not on the scale of America, Christmas in England was no small occasion, with many getting in the festive spirit early on. At the office, someone had set up a whole array of decorations, elegant but festive. The people in the labs all wore elf hats, with Q wearing one that read ‘head elf’.

Rogers had told him that they had been invited to Martinelli’s for carolling and then a Christmas party. James had never done carolling back in the states, had thought standing out in the cold and singing out of tune to be a waste of an evening, but the way Rogers’ eyes had lit up at the prospect had caused James to agree to come along. Apparently Rogers went carolling every year with his family, and so was excited to get in a little bit of practice.

That day, James had agreed to meet up with Wanda and Sam for lunch. Wanda had been quiet and shy when they had first met, but had begun to open up with time, and he had found a lot of her anxiety to lie within her ability to speak the language. She and her brother, Pietro, had moved to the county about a year prior, and she was still self-conscious about her accent- enough that it made her clam up when talking to strangers. She had told him all about the running of the Martinelli household- inadvertently, of course- giving him information about some of the visitors George Martinelli had; as a maid she could generally slip in anywhere unnoticed and James was starting to think it would be good to hire her with everything she had found out.

“James, it is nice to see you again.” She said in her soft voice, a bright smile slowly spreading across her face. Sam stood up and clapped him on the back, sharing a murmured greeting, and James sat down. The coffee shop they frequented was small but busy. There were large glass windows looking out onto the street, and James often enjoyed sitting there and watching the world go by as Sam and Wanda talked, listening to the background bustle of the café. After staring at pages on pages at work, talking with Wanda and Sam was like a little respite, their coffee shop an island in a sea of stress.

“How have you guys been then?” James asked as the waitress brought over the coffee ordered.

“Good man, this is one hell of a vacation. Riley knows some people, so it’s been nonstop spas for me.” He grin a Cheshire cat grin, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Alright, alright, no need to brag.” James grumbled jokingly.

“I’m just sayin’- you ever seen skin this soft?” He leaned forward, shoved his face in James’, to which James just laughed and pushed his face away.

“Oh James, talking of soft skin,” Wanda started, grin growing on her face at a rate that worried James. “I know a beautiful girl with a lovely complexion. You should take her out on a date- she loves Scottish accents.” James sighed and gave Wanda a sad smile.

“Wanda-“ He started, but was quickly interrupted by the girl.

“I know you said you don’t want to date because of your job, but I think she will be good for you. She said she is fine with it, and she is really sweet. Just one date that’s all I’m asking. You can’t be lonely forever.” James sighed and knew that Wanda wasn’t going to let this go.

“Fine, fine. One date. But only one, you hear?” Wanda squealed and reached forward and hugged him, chattering on about this girl whilst James listened. With each word she spoke, James couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was being dishonest, which was daft, surely.

* * *

The night was cold- the sort of cold that bit at your toes and seeped into your bones- and James stuffed his gloved hands into his pockets a little deeper. The sky was dark but clear, stars shining brightly in the way you could only see in the countryside, far away from busy roads and light pollution. James and Rogers ambled down the quiet road in companionable silence, shoulders knocking together occasionally. Peggy had given them a lift on her way to whatever illustrious place of mystery she was next visiting and Sam had agreed to give him and Rogers a lift back in the morning, as Angie had requested they stay over. This party was a much more closed affair than the previous one the house had held, with closer friends and family being invited over. This, however, did not mean the party was in any way smaller, quite the contrary. The Martinellis had more family than money, it appeared- and that was no small amount. There was a large group outside the door when he and Rogers arrived, all preparing to set off carolling, and Angie came bounding over.

"Steve! There you are, darling. I was getting worried you weren't going to show." She pulled him into a hug, an easy grin on both their faces.

"And miss this? Clearly you don't know me at all, Miss Martinelli." He said, faux-disapproving. "This is James Barnes, I don't think you two met last time." Rogers turned, gesturing to James who nodded in greeting.

"I'm afraid you took up all my attention, darling. Mr Barnes, it is so lovely to meet you. I've heard all about your daring feats across the globe. You must have been everywhere."

"I'd be hard pressed to say I haven't. I only hope I can live up to this illustrious reputation you've heard." His grin was sweet and bashful, and Angie smiled back at him brightly.

"I'm sure you're perfect- you'd have to be, to put up with this one." She said, teasingly poking Rogers, who grabbed his chest in mock hurt. "Now, I would love to talk more, but I'm afraid I have to go and talk to Sir Edward. My mother invited him, but she's not the one who has to put with such a bore. I'll see you two round." And with that she twirled away, bright smile still firmly in place. As though they were a well-tuned flock of birds, the group of carollers began to move towards the gates, the murmur of chatter comforting in the quiet night. Rogers turned towards James to offer him his arm, and they followed after the merry group. James huddled close to Rogers, grasping his arm firmly, so as to hopefully be warmed up by the human furnace that was Rogers, and not because he found the scent of Rogers' cologne to be ever so intoxicating. Definitely not.

"Are you nervous?" Rogers asked in his low rumbling voice, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"And why would I be nervous?" James asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Why, because it's your first time carolling. I have high hopes for you, you know."

"Yeah, well, I've never had the best singing voice, truth be told."

"And you're only telling me this now?" Rogers exclaimed in fake outrage. "Well there goes the world class career I had planned for you." At this James snorted.

"What- professional carol singer?"

"Yes, there's a big market for it, you know."

"Ah well. I'll disappoint you, disappoint the crowds of adoring fans and my career will end in tears. What a life you've led me to, Rogers."

"You could never disappoint me." James glanced at Rogers, catching the sincerity he rarely held in his eyes. James' brain stuttered and he couldn't think of anything to say, but Rogers beat him to it.

"And you don't have to keep calling me Rogers. Steve is fine." He cleared his throat, and kept his attention on the carollers in front of him, but James couldn't tear his eyes away from the man.

"Okay. Steve." He tried it out on his tongue, and Steve's eyes darted over to him sharply, a small smile beginning to edge its way on to his lips. They walked on in silence, stopping with the carollers at the first house. Mulled wine and mince pies were handed round and the carollers started up a rendition of Silent Night.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Steve leaned over and whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“It’s my pleasure.” At this, Steve gave him a disbelieving look. “No, I mean it, really.” He laughed. “I love spending time with you, even if we have to do it outside in the freezing cold.” Steve huffed a laugh and leaned in to him.

“Well thank you anyway. Although I was a little reluctant at first,” James snorted and Steve glared at him, carrying on. “Although I was a little reluctant, working with you has been one of the best things I’ve done in a long time, and I can’t imagine having done this without you. Every day you listen to me moan on about somebody or other, or about politics or whatever it is that has sent me into indignation and you come with me to the pub and talk and laugh with me and tell me all about your far more interesting life, and I’m so grateful. It feels like an age since anyone actually paid attention to _me. _Not what I look like, or what I can do, but me. My opinions, my thoughts, my feelings. And you’re so good. You’re funny and charming and willing to call me out on my bullshit, and so, so, much better than me. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you James Barnes. So thank you. For everything.” Steve snapped his mouth shut, more anxious than James had ever seen him, and James couldn’t bear the thought he might be behind all this worry. He grabbed the back of Steve’s head and pulled him into the kiss he’d been wanting since they’d first met. Steve gasped and James deepened the kiss, drinking in everything that was Steve Rogers. Before long James was smiling so much he had to stop the kiss, leaning his forehead against Steve’s, hands still gripping his jaw.

“So is this another carolling tradition round here then?” He whispered, not wanting to ruin the intimacy of the moment.

“What, kissing the most handsome man during ‘we wish you a merry Christmas’?”

“Well yeah, got to make sure there are no ulterior motives here.” He laughed, wrapping his arms around Steve’s shoulders.

“My motives are entirely innocent.”

“Well, hopefully not too innocent.” James smirked and leaned in for another kiss.

“You Americans. You’re going to ruin my delicate English sensibilities.” He was beaming, arms wrapped around James’ waist to keep him close.

“I’m sure you’ll live.” James snorted.

“Actually, I’m feeling rather faint, all this talk of immoral acts must have brought on some sort of fever.” Steve sighed dramatically, bringing his hand to his forehead and making out like an 18th century young lady. James laughed and pushed him away only to be drawn back in under his arm as they began to walk to the next house.

After they’d visited several houses, and drunk far more mulled wine than they should have, the group headed back to Angie’s. Despite going because of Steve’s friendship with Angie, they had also managed to meet a few more of the mysterious people who made their way in and out of the house regularly. James was certain George Martinelli was involved in some sketchy things, especially after seeing Pierce’s collection of weapons.

Trying to put the agent part of him to the side for one night, he and Steve made their way around the party together. After their revelation whilst carolling, James couldn’t help starting soppily at him, delighting in his laugh and eyes and everything about him. It was like he was drunk- he couldn’t keep the giddy look off his face. Steve was no better. Whenever he could, he was always touching James- a hand on his back, a whisper in his ear, a kiss to his cheek. At that moment he had his arm around his waist, talking to a man about American politics, as far as James could work out.

“That’s all very well, but it hardly takes into account everything going on behind the scenes. The administration’s got a lot coming if it thinks it can ignore all of that.” Steve commented, but it might as well have been Icelandic for all James understood.

“And that’s before you even consider what Russia would do, if it came about.” The man he was speaking to was a short, ageing fellow, with a large smile and nervous hands. As he spoke, his eyes darted about the room and his eyebrows seemed to perform dome sort of Cirque du Soleil act.

Steve took in a deep breath, a clear sign he was about to start a rant, but James interrupted him quickly.

“I’m just going to go make a phone call outside where it’s a bit quieter.” He whispered in Steve’s ear.

“Okay, don’t be long.” James kissed him on the cheek in reply, delighting in the way it made the tips of Steve’s ears go pink.

Walking out onto the patio laid before the sprawling gardens, James pulled out his phone and dialled a familiar number.

“James! Is everything alright?” Wanda’s worried voice crackled over the speaker phone.

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry. Sorry for calling so late, I just wanted to ask you to cancel that date you set up for me.”

“Oh James,” she sighed. “You should really go, I don’t want you to be lonely. She knows about your busy job, and she completely understands.” James interrupted her before should could try any more convincing.

“No Wanda, it’s not like that at all. I’m not going to be lonely, I’ve just found someone. That’s why I want you to cancel.” At this she gasped and let out a squeal that prompted a laugh from James.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so happy! Who is it? Is it anyone I know?” She waited eagerly for his response.

“Do you remember Steve Rogers? The guy I work for?”

“Him? Oh James, he’s so handsome, and so nice. You’ve done well for someone so opposed to love.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But he is amazing. I hope I can introduce you two soon, he’ll absolutely love you, I’m sure.”

Then, just as she was about to reply, a large boom sounded from inside the house, and something knocked him clean over, sending him head first into the stone steps leading to the garden. The sound of screams and shattered glass echoed into the night, and he could hear Wanda’s voice faintly calling out from the phone he’d dropped. He tried to reach out to it but managed only a groan before his eyes unfocused and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this but have it anyway. Sorry it took so long, I couldn't get it right and so I've just settled with this for now. Who knows, maybe I'll come back and edit it. Anyway, hope you enjoyed- things bout to get real intense.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ah ha... sorry?

The sky was a looming wall of black above him, uninterrupted and suffocating. There was nothing for miles above him, just the gaping darkness stretching out. Distantly he could hear the wail of sirens over the ringing in his ears and managed to catch a glimpse of their flashing lights.

A face leaned over him, speaking but not being heard, and James was glad of the interruption of the dark blackness that stole his focus. He could feel himself being lifted but it felt far away, as though he were watching everything happening to his body from somewhere else, just him and the sky and the night, silent in the chaos.

As he was hoisted into the ambulance with its harsh glaring lights, the world began to fade again, everything turning black. Just him and the sky and the night.

* * *

When he came to again, he was in a hospital bed, quiet disturbed only by the soft beep of the machine keeping watch over him. In the corner of the room was a nurse bustling, not aware of his change in consciousness. He let out a small groan and she glanced over at him before rushing out the room and returning with a doctor.

He stared down at his clipboard with a furrowed brow before turning that same worried glare on James.

“James Barnes?” The doctor inquired.

“That’s me.” It came out slurred and slightly American, before James could stop himself. Peggy wouldn’t appreciate the whole operation being ruined because he couldn’t keep his head on straight.

“I’m afraid you’ve suffered a few knocks to the head, alongside your other injuries, so we just want to run a few tests before we let you go, just to check everything’s okay.” James nodded blearily, trying to clear some of the fog from his head to no avail. With this the doctor nodded once and left the room.

The nurse, who had been busy fiddling with one of the tubes connected to his arm, made to leave as well.

“Steve Rogers. Is he here?” James asked before she could go.

“I’m afraid there aren’t any visitors for you at the moment, sir.” She turned to leave, but James stopped her again.

“No, no, I meant. Is he here? In the hospital. As a patient. He was with me during the accident, I need to know if he’s okay.” His voice cracked at the end of it, and he looked away.

“I’m sorry sir, but I can only give out patient information to family members.” She seemed genuinely apologetic, and James panicked at the thought of Steve dying in some cold sterile hospital room, whilst James just sat down the hall twiddling his thumbs.

“I’m his partner. Please, I need to know if he’s alright.” He looked at her pleadingly, causing something in her eyes to soften.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not making any promises.” He thanked her, and she nodded and shut the door behind herself.

* * *

After the halls had gone silent, and night was streaming through the window, James left the room. Being careful as to not pull any of the tubes out of his arms, he wandered down the hall, peering into each room trying to look as unnoticeable as possible. Eventually he came to a room at the end of done of the wards. Inside was Steve, sleeping peacefully, light haloed around him as quietly beeping machines watched over him. 

Pushing the door open, James came into the room, shuffling up to the bed. Steve was laid out on his back, one leg slightly suspended, and had a thick wad of bandaged wrapped under his hospital gown. Steve stirred slightly, eyes cracking open, and James felt his heart clench.

"James?" He croaked, lifting his arm in James' direction.

"Heya Stevie." He replied softly, unwilling to break the quiet as he caught Steve's hand with his.

"What are you doing here?" He attempted to sit up, but James pushed him back down gently.

"Came to see how you were doing, pal. You're not looking so hot." He rubbed his hand up and down Steve's arm in a soothing gesture.

"Charming." He snorted, before breaking out into a coughing fit.

“You know what I meant.” He said after handing Steve some water. “How are you doing?”

Steve sighed and flopped his head back onto the pillow. “Doctors said I have to stay here for awhile, got so many injuries I’ve forgotten half of them.” 

James smiled weakly, and squeezed Steve’s hand tighter. “But you’re gonna be okay right?”

“You know me Buck, I’m a trooper.” Just as James was about to berate him for the nickname, the door opened with a heavy sigh. In stepped two police officers and a doctor, who moved immediately towards the machines by Steve and started fiddling.

“Can I help you?” James asked, ignoring the way his heart began to hammer with worry.

“Steve Rogers?” The man asked with slight confusion.

“No, he’s Steve.” He nodded towards the blond. “I’m James Barnes.”

“How fortunate. We’ve come to talk to you too, Mr Barnes.” The policemen sat in two of the chairs by the bed whilst James and Steve tracked them warily with their eyes.

"What can you tell us about the incident?" The policeman leaned forwards and readied his pencil.

"I was by the bar, talking to two gentlemen- I can't remember their names, I'm sorry- when I heard this bang and I got knocked back. Then I got knocked out, I think."

"Do you remember seeing anything suspicious?"

"No I don't think so. It was just a normal party up until then." The policeman nodded and jotted something down before turning to James. As they were talking a nurse came in and began fiddling with some of Steve's machines.

"What about you, son?"

"I had just gone outside to make a call to my friend Wanda when it happened. There should be a phone record of it." He said warily.

"So you weren't actually inside the premises when it happened?" His eyebrows had climbed a little as he processed this.

"No, I was out on the patio, there was a couple out there too, one of them was wearing a ruffled red dress, but otherwise I was alone. I wanted some quiet, so I could talk to my friend." The policeman frowned and wrote something else down before flicking his notebook shut. The nurse stepped over to him and removed the tubes coming from his arms, covering them over with plasters before leaving.

"Well, I'll be off then. Thank you for your help, if you remember anything out of the ordinary, please don't hesitate to call." With that, he handed Steve a business card and him and his partner left. James watched them go, before turning his attention back to Steve.

"Do you have any idea who it was?" Steve shook his head as his eyebrows furrowed.

"Until we know who they were trying to target, we won't have much idea." Looking at Steve, James saw his beaten up face, bandages wrapped around his broken body, and his heart began to ache. Suddenly unable to sit still any longer, James got up, kissing Steve lightly on the forehead, and said he was going to go outside for some air.

Once outside, he felt like he could finally breathe. There was no longer the lingering smell of disinfectant, and no harsh lights boring into his eyes. James took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. The night had become too much all at once, and he felt as though he was about to cry. With this thought in his mind, he called his sister.

"Hello?" A voice came through, garbled slightly by the poor signal.

"Heya Becs, it's me." It was a relief to drop the Scottish brogue, and return to the familiarity of his own accent.

"Bucky! Hey, how are you? You haven't called in ages! What's up?" His sister's tone was filled with delight and admonishment, drawing a reluctant smile out of him.

"You know it takes two to make a call, Becs. I just wanted to see how you were. Hear your voice." He squeezed his eyes closed in an effort not to tear up.

"I don't think you've ever called just to 'see how I am'. Something's wrong, isn't it." Her voice filled with worry, and he could he had her undivided attention.

“It’s just-“ He had to stop to choke back a sob. “A lot's happened since I lost spoke to you Becs. I met a guy."

"A real life human guy?" She said,putting on a shocked voice.

"Yeah, yeah he's a real boy. He's- God Becs, he's great. He's funny and super clever and I love him to bits."

"Then what's the problem." She asked, concerned.

"We got in an accident." He was rapidly blinking back tears at this point. "We were at a party and there was an explosion, and all hell broke loose." He had to stop himself before he broke down fully.

"Oh my God Bucks, are you okay?" He could practically hear her gripping the phone, knuckles white with worry.

"Yeah I'm fine. They were worried I might have a few brain injuries cause I hit my head, but I'm alright. But Steve-." He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself down as the sobs forced their way out of his chest.

"Is he alright?"

"He's awake, but he's got a list of injuries as long as my arm, and I just-." He interrupted himself with a few sharp sobs. "He looked so fragile Becs. So breakable. I don't know what I would do if I lost him. I can't-" At this he began to hyperventilate, sucking in sharp breaths rapidly, but somehow still being unable to breathe. He squeezed the phone so hard he heard the screen creak, but all he could think about was Steve lying asleep in that bed, pale skin made more translucent by the harsh white lights, the piles of machines beeping at him, keeping him alive.

Becca began to make some soothing noises over the phone, but he couldn't hear her over his own rapid breathing. "Bucky. Bucky listen to me."

"I can't, I can't, I just- I-" He stuttered

"BUCKY." She yelled, cutting off his rambling, leaving him to sniffle quietly.

"Bucky, he is alive, okay? You need to remember that. Yeah, it's awful what happened, but I promise you, all you need to do is be there for him. That's all you can do. It will be okay." Her voice was soothing, and slowly his breaths began to calm. 

"Thanks Becs." He uttered quietly.

"I'm always here for you, you know that right." At this he smiled.

"What would I do without my little sister, helping me sort out my life problems." He joked.

"Probably lying in a ditch somewhere. Look, I need to go, but promise me you'll call if you need anything."

"Same goes to you. Love you Becca."

"Ah, love you too Buck." He hung up the phone and smiled up at the night sky. He breaths had calmed, so there was only the occasional hitch, and his hands had stopped shaking. Sucking in a deep breath, he began to dial Peggy's number.

"Barnes. I'm glad you called." Her voice was abrupt, and so different from the soft sound of Becca's that he almost laughed.

"I'm guessing you heard about the accident." He sighed.

"I'm glad you're both okay, I can't be going around loosing all my best agents now, can I?"

"Do you have any idea who was behind it?" He asked, voice weary and rough.

"That's the thing. They think it might be an inside job, someone who knows about the Martinelli case. Unfortunately, that's quite a lot of people, but it also includes you James. I want you to be careful, tell Steve he'll be investigated too. Nothing should come of it, since you I know you're not behind it, but there will be a bit of a focus on you two, since you were actually at the event. Just be careful." He tone was even, but he could hear the worry laced through he voice.

"Thanks for the heads up Pegs." He rubbed at his forehead in exhaustion. "I'll go and tell Steve, we've already had two policemen asking questions. I'll talk to you later." With that he shut off his hone and blew out a heavy breath. Behind him he heard the crunching of footsteps on gravel, but when he turned around there was only the dark parking lot, illuminated dimly by street lamps.

"Hello?" He called out, but there was no answer. As he turned to go back inside, a sharp splitting pain resonated through the back of his head, and he staggered forwards, vision blurring slightly. He whorled around and saw a figure dressed in black holding a bat and a bag advancing towards him. He ducked under the hit that came at him and made a break for the Aston Steve had left in the parking lot.

Throwing himself into the car, he glanced at the rear view mirror and saw the thug mirroring his actions with a plain white van of his own. The Aston thrummed to life beneath him, and he jerked it round, careening out of the car park. Without a clue as to where he was going, he turned onto road after road, the van hot on his heels. He swerved through the traffic, his car letting out the occasional screech of protest, but still the van followed, accompanied by the blaring of horns of other drivers. He turned down onto a side road, the street lights slowly disappearing, being replaced with a thick black wall of trees on either side. He took winding road after winding road, but the van followed after like a hunting dog, unrelenting and unshakeable. With no way of shaking the car, it turned into a game of speeds. The Aston roared, unleashing its pure power on the road below, swallowing up the earth so fast the broken white lines in the middle of the road blurred into one.

Right in front of him, a car swerved onto the road from seemingly nowhere, forcing James to hit the break with a horrifying screech. His vision swam, the hit from earlier coming back with full force as his head banged against the steering wheel. He pushed open the door and all but fell out onto the road. In front of him were about seven men, all dressed in black, all with different weapons. He dragged himself to his feet preparing to fight, but someone grabbed him from behind and tied up his hands.

"Quit struggling." Growled the gruff voice of the man behind him, only making James struggle harder.

"I mean it _Barnes_." All of a sudden James stopped, staying rigidly still at the sound of his name in that voice.

"Brock?" He called out hesitantly. The man behind him finished tying the notes before throwing James' hands down roughly. He stepped around James slowly, his feet coming to a stop in front of him.

"James. How lovely to see you again." He purred in a voice that sent shivers down James' spine.

"Why are you doing this?" His voice was slurring and his eyes unfocusing.

"Oh don't worry. You'll find out soon enough." The malevolent sneer spreading across Brock's face was the last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... really quite late isn't it? Well, new years resolution is to finish this so hopefully this won't take too long, but it will be slower than the updates were in the summer, as I have a lot (A LOT) of work. I'm a bit of a busy bee at the minute, but I'm going to try for you guys. Comments and kudos do help motivate me, so if you wanna leave one feel free x


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